


(Swallow Me) Whole

by akitsuko



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alley Sex, Blind Date, Blow Jobs, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, Flirting, Kissing, Love at First Sight, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: His voice is just lovely. Smooth and masculine. Oswald allows his hand to linger in the shake, unable to stop himself smiling at the thought that perhaps this won't be such a waste of an evening after all.Oswald gets more than he bargained for in the form of a blind date with Edward Nygma.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 18
Kudos: 87





	(Swallow Me) Whole

**Author's Note:**

> Just flexing my cliche/trope muscles as I prepare for my NaNoWriMo project ;)

Oswald hadn't been nervous. In fact, he had been quietly confident and, actually, a bit bored. It's not in his nature to be easily caught out by the unknown, and he had cared so little for his prospective evening that it felt more like a waste of his time than anything else. He'd dressed up and fixed his hair to perfection, holding himself as tall as possible as he practiced looking intimidating in the mirror. For a while, he was even tempted to call the whole ridiculous thing off, but, in the end, his mild curiosity had given him pause. 

A blind date, indeed. What on earth had he been thinking? 

However, now that he's set eyes on the man (and he's sure it's him, from the description), all of his previous apathy has been unceremoniously shoved aside. 

The man - Edward, his name is - is standing near the entrance to the restaurant they'll be dining at, and Oswald stands in the shadows at enough of a distance that he won't be noticed, giving him a moment to reevaluate. Oswald is not often distracted by good looks, but Edward's basic description has not done him an ounce of justice. He's breathtaking, even from this far away. A lean build, a strong bone structure, a charcoal grey suit hugging his body in all the right places, dark hair swept away from his face in soft curls. He's understated but gorgeous, and he's holding a small bunch of flowers, idly fiddling with the arrangement, and Oswald feels his stomach flip-flop with anticipation. 

He hadn't been nervous, but he certainly is now. 

All throughout the buildup to this date, he'd felt nothing but a minor inconvenience, and he'd not bothered to foster any sort of hope that the budding relationship (if it could even be called that) would actually go anywhere. Unfortunately, he's led by his heart, and his judgement is frequently clouded by emotion. No longer impartial, he's filled with a deep and sudden yearning to impress. 

He wipes his palms on his thighs to remove any clamminess, takes a deep breath, and crosses the road to approach. 

"You must be Edward," he says as soon as he gets close enough, prompting a delightful jolt of surprise as Edward's attention snaps to him. Oswald can see now that his eyes, behind glass lenses, are chocolate brown and utterly mesmerising. He consciously reminds himself not to stare as he extends his hand, and Edward, after only the briefest pause, takes it in his grip. 

"That makes you Oswald, I presume?" 

His voice is just lovely. Smooth and masculine. Oswald allows his hand to linger in the shake, unable to stop himself smiling at the thought that perhaps this won't be such a waste of an evening after all. 

"At your service. It's a pleasure to meet you." Despite having already checked him out from across the road, Oswald makes a show of deliberately sweeping his gaze down Edward's figure, and then back up again to meet his eyes as he finally let's go of his hand. It's obvious that Edward notices the attention, because he clears his throat and licks his lips quickly as a faint blush starts to colour his cheeks. 

Oh, yes. Oswald is going to enjoy this. He can tell. 

Edward thrusts the flowers out towards him now. "T-these are for you," he clarifies, unnecessarily. "I wasn't sure if you would even like flowers, but I wanted to make a good first impression. Did you know that the use of flowers as a gesture of romance or affection is sometimes attributed to ancient folklore?" 

"I… No?" The abruptness of the question takes Oswald by surprise, but Edward elaborates before he can keep up. 

"For example, the Norse goddess Freya, who was associated with love and beauty, had an affiliation with daisies. Hence, the association between daisies and romance. Some might also say this is the origin for the use of a daisy in the 'loves me, loves me not' rhyme. Neat, right?"

Oswald takes a moment, just to compose himself again, and slowly accepts the bouquet before he replies.

"That is interesting. Do you know a lot about flowers, or did you learn that just to blindside me?" 

He's teasing a bit, but he can't help himself. Edward, however, doesn't seem to see the humour and furrows his brow as his enthusiastic smile slips from his face. 

"Not at all, I just… I know a lot of things, and it seemed relevant. I'm sorry."

"No," Oswald hastens to reassure him. Edward's expression is reminiscent of a kicked puppy, and it's doing things to Oswald's sense of self-control. "I didn't mean to imply anything. Let's go inside, and you can tell me more over a drink?" 

As quickly as it vanished, Edward's smile returns, blinding and brilliant and wholly contagious. 

Oswald is in trouble; he can feel it in his bones. 

Edward holds the door open for him as they enter the restaurant, and pulls out his chair for him after they've been taken to their table. It's a touch old-fashioned, and yet hopelessly endearing. By the time they're both seated, Oswald is confident that he has the measure of Edward. He's smart and slightly awkward, gentlemanly and eager to please. A bit naive, maybe. There's a softness to him that makes him seem young, and he's certainly not the sort of person who frequently goes on dates. He's probably more likely to arrange his socks according to colour. 

Still, Oswald is drawn to him like a moth to a flame. There's something about him, something fascinating that he can't quite put his finger on, and his classic good looks aren't exactly a negative, either. 

"So, Edward," he says, rolling the syllables around his tongue as he rests his cheek in his hand. "You were telling me about flowers in relation to Norse mythology?" 

Grining, Edward leans forward on the table and launches into his explanation, elaborating on the goddess Freya and the relevant stories surrounding her before branching out to talk about other related figures from the time. Oswald is content to listen, though only half paying attention, otherwise occupied by the stretch of Edward's lips and the way the shadows move under his cheekbones as he speaks. 

They are briefly interrupted by a waiter, but before Oswald can say anything, Edward orders them a very particular bottle of wine and proceeds to explain the distinct yet subtle variations between vintage and region. 

It turns out that Edward is more of a verbal encyclopaedia than a human, and Oswald's attention is rapt. Occasionally, he manages to interject with a comment or a question, and each time Edward lights up, as if he can't quite believe that someone is interested in what he has to say. It's easy for Oswald to imagine that Edward probably tends to annoy the people around him. It's a saddening thought, but fleeting, so long as he can keep that bright-eyed enthusiasm on Edward's face. 

By the time the waiter returns with their wine, they still haven't even looked at their menus, and Oswald requests a little longer before they give their food orders. 

"Anyway," he says, taking advantage of a lull in the conversation after the waiter has gone again and the two of them are perusing the menus, "I'm interested. Is this your first 'blind date'?" 

Edward nods, that wonderful blush making a reappearance on his cheeks. "Yes. My dating experience in general is woefully limited, in fact. I hope that doesn't… put you off?" 

He bites his lip as he looks at Oswald, concern evident in his features. Oswald finds himself keen to eradicate it. 

"Not at all. I rarely date, myself. It's an area that's never really been a priority for me."

Edward cocks his head. "So why did you agree to this one?" 

"Honestly? I couldn't say," Oswald shrugs. "I almost didn't come. But, I must admit, I'm glad that I did. I know we've just met, but there's something intriguing about you. Not to mention, you're incredibly handsome."

Tugging at his collar, Edward's blush deepens as he averts his gaze. "That's not what people normally say about me."

"What do they normally say?" 

"Well, let's just say that they're considerably less complimentary."

"Then they're idiots!" Oswald hisses, surprising both of them with the amount of venom that slips into his tone. He's not sure that he's ever felt so strongly about coming to the defense of an almost total stranger, but the thought of anyone speaking unkindly to Edward makes the blood boil in his veins. In a moment of boldness, he reaches across the table to cover Edward's hand with his own. His skin is warm, and Edward doesn't recoil. 

Then Edward smiles. "I lead the way into the unknown, and bring strength where there is fear. I am the creator of invention, and the maker of all adventure. What am I?" 

For the second time since meeting Edward, Oswald is rendered momentarily speechless. When he finds his voice, he says, "Are you asking me a riddle?" 

"Do you like riddles?" Edward's grin widens. 

"Not especially. I'm terrible at them."

"Shall I tell you the answer then?" and Edward doesn't wait for a response before he continues, "Curiosity. You intrigue me too."

It's in this moment that Oswald knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's not going to be able to let Edward go without a fight. He's falling hard and he's falling fast, and there's absolutely nothing he can do about it. 

The rest of their date is, for lack of a better word, perfect. The meal is delicious, and their conversation is comfortable with undeniably flirty undertones. At one point, while they're discussing Edward's rather gruesome interest in human anatomy, Oswald edges his foot forward under the table until his shoe brushes against Edward's. Edward carries on talking without missing a beat, and doesn't pull his foot away.

In fact, Oswald can't remember the last time he so enjoyed someone else's company. People, in general, tend to be too stupid or too loathsome to be worth the effort of socialising. Although he's happy to butter up those above him in the underworld food chain, and he's able to turn on the charisma if a situation calls for it, he's long since come to terms with the knowledge that he doesn't have a single true friend in all the world. The only person who really cares about him is his mother, and he loves her enormously, but he still often wonders what it would be like to have someone he could really trust. 

That's what it feels like, talking to Edward. Edward is open about his own eccentricities, and has already admitted that he uses his job as a forensic scientist as a means to satisfy his personal interest in physiology. He appears not to have much of a filter between his brain and his mouth, and it's making Oswald dangerously tempted to offer up some of his own darkness. 

They order one dessert between them, because Edward tentatively suggests that they could share it. It's more intimate than it has any right to be. And they're nearly finished when Oswald scoops up a forkful and holds it out towards Edward. 

"Open," he instructs, unable to hold back a salacious grin when Edward obeys immediately, though it falters slightly when Edward drags his lips back along the prongs in a display that's almost lewd, maintaining eye contact throughout. 

There's a spark between them, definitely. A chemistry that shouldn't be possible for near strangers. 

Then they argue over the bill for a while before compromising on a split, and too soon they're back outside, preparing to part ways for the night. 

"I really enjoyed tonight, Oswald," Edward says. He's standing very close, in Oswald's personal space, which only emphasises their height difference. Oswald doesn't mind. 

"I did, too." Oswald fidgets and stalls, his flowers clutched in his hands as he tries to think of a way to extend their date further. He could always invite Edward for further drinks at a bar somewhere, but he doesn't want to give the impression that he's trying to get him drunk. Everything is going so well, and he does not intend to spoil it. 

He looks up, and Edward's eyes are shining behind his glasses, under the streetlights. He's truly beautiful. Almost ethereal. And Oswald's heart beats harder as he realises that Edward is just as reluctant to leave as he is. 

Edward raises one hand, ghosting his fingertips lightly across Oswald's cheek. His eyes track the movement before flicking back to meet Oswald's gaze once again. 

"I'd like to kiss you," he murmurs, making Oswald's breath catch. "May I?" 

Oswald barely hesitates. In lieu of a verbal answer, he reaches up to thread the fingers of one hand through Edward's tempting hair, tilting his face upwards, and Edward meets him in the middle. 

It's just a chaste press of lips at first, but it's glorious. It isn't Oswald's first kiss, nor his second, nor even his third, but it's immediately the one that has his heart fluttering against his ribcage and sets every nerve in his body alight. His eyes slide closed as Edward's hand drops to rest against his jaw, and he lingers in the contact, unwilling to pull away. 

It does eventually end, as all kisses must do, but only to allow for a deep breath before they come together again, more sure of themselves this time, more confident that they're equally wanting. Oswald shifts for a better angle, tightening his grip in Edward's hair and eliciting a soft whine from him. It vibrates against Oswald's mouth, utterly delectable, and it makes Oswald want to crawl inside his skin. He licks at Edward's bottom lip as he withdraws, both of them breathing more heavily now, and is deeply gratified when Edward automatically tries to follow him. 

He stays close, and takes a good look at Edward's flushed face. His eyes are lidded, his pupils dark and dilated, and there's something about his enraptured gaze that pins Oswald to the spot. It's as if something has shifted in his soul and now it's resonating from him, something urgent and primal and captivating. 

"Don't go," he says, his voice deep and throaty, simultaneously pleading and demanding. The combination makes Oswald's head spin. 

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere." And he pulls Edward's head back down, the kisses becoming harder, continual, more passionate. The blissful first touch of Edward's tongue against his lips has Oswald groaning, opening his own mouth in response. Desire builds within him like a whirlwind, sweeping him off his feet as he explores Edward's mouth as thoroughly as possible, propelled by Edward's own ardent reciprocation. It's a need, deep in his belly, that he can't ever recall experiencing before. 

He breathes Edward's scent as they kiss like exuberant teenagers, each unwilling to part from the other. When he steps closer, to press himself against Edward's body, Edward's free arm wraps his waist in a firm grip to keep him there. The hand at his jaw slides back, a sweet caress in contrast to the kisses devouring him, to hold the back of his neck. Mindful that he's still holding his flowers, Oswald rests his forearm at Edward's hip. 

The extra contact is exquisite. Oswald can feel the heat radiating from Edward's body; it sears him, a magnetising force that he can't get enough of. Every flick of his tongue against Edward's makes him want to dive straight down his throat. He would let Edward swallow him whole, if he wanted. 

Edward bites his lip then, and that fires a jolt of something cruelly wonderful all the way down to Oswald's toes. He gasps against Edward, and Edward grips him tighter. Each time they come together again, the want becomes more violent, until Oswald is shaking with it and unable to contain himself. 

He walks Edward backwards, away from the restaurant front and into a small alley at the side. It's hardly private, but right now, Oswald simply doesn't care. He takes a moment to put down his flowers, and proceeds to use the new advantage of having both hands finally at his disposal. Backing Edward against a wall, he pins him there with a bruising grip on his hips, and kisses him with a fierceness that Edward returns in full. 

But it doesn't last long, because Edward flips their positions in a surprising show of strength, then uses one hand in Oswald's hair to wrench his head back, growling as he plants hungry kisses down the side of his neck. It must be the most divine form of torture in the world. 

Oswald clutches at him, helpless under the onslaught. "You're so hot," he grinds out, and Edward rears back up, almost snarling, to kiss him hard on the mouth. 

"I want you, Oswald," he says against his lips. "I want to wreck you."

It strikes Oswald then, how different Edward seems now, compared to the awkward man who'd chattered about Norse goddesses earlier in the evening. There's an assuredness to him now, as if a sense of dominance has awakened and possessed him at his core. 

He'd known that Edward was something new, something interesting, something special. This just cements it. Oswald wants to unwrap every layer and find out all there is to know. 

They kiss for what feels like forever. Their hands wander constantly, untucking and unbuttoning clothes to access more skin, each of them only becoming more desperate as the time passes. Scrapes of nails and teeth, an endless litany of groans into each other's mouth, and then Edward very deliberately thrusts against him, wracking Oswald's entire body with lust. 

"Edward," he gasps, dropping his head back against the bricks with a thud. Edward does it again and again, and it's not long before they find a mutually beneficial rhythm, rutting against each other with utter abandon. 

The feeling of Edward's erection grinding against his body makes Oswald hazy. He wants more, all of it, everything. The layers of clothing between them are beginning to become a hindrance, and he grunts with frustration, completely ready to start tearing Edward's clothes off. Except he doesn't get the chance, because Edward wrenches himself back a step and promptly drops to his knees on the cold, dirty floor. 

There can be no mistake about where this is going. Oswald spares only a passing thought for whether they're moving too fast, because then Edward's hands are frantically working at his belt and he finds that he doesn't care. When he looks down, the vision Edward makes overcomes him. Dishevelled and debauched, shirt collar hanging askew, glasses fogged, heavy breaths coming through his parted lips. His fingers are deft and capable, brushing against Oswald's dick through his pants, and Oswald hears himself whine pathetically. 

Edward looks up, meeting his gaze head on. "Is this alright?" he asks, even as he manages to get the belt undone and slides Oswald's fly open. Oswald can't believe he even needs to ask, and he says as much.

"I'm hardly about to stop you." Though he's silently appalled by how croaky his voice is - not at all the confident and slightly snarky tone he was going for - it's worth it to see the smirk that spreads across Edward's face. 

He gets back to work and, moments later, gets both Oswald's trousers and underwear down far enough to free his erection to the open air. Oswald bites his lip, hoping to prevent any more of those embarrassing sounds escaping while he watches. 

It's a futile effort from the first touch of Edward's fingers against his flesh. He feels himself throb as Edward wraps him in a firm grip, experimenting with a few different movements as he presumably tries to suss out the things that make Oswald tick. It's not going to be difficult, Oswald thinks, since he is ridiculously transparent. Whimpers slither through his gritted teeth, and he takes hold of Edward's shoulders tightly. 

Then Edward shuffles, and leans forward with his mouth open, and closes his lips around as much of Oswald's cock as he can handle. 

Oswald's eyes cross and he can't breathe. Every bit of his attention zeroes in on the act, the sensation of wet heat around him, the softness of Edward's lips and the steadying touch of his hands. This time, he barely hears his own desperate cry. Blindly, he grasps for Edward's hair, and damn, Edward just stays right where he is. 

His mouth is heavenly, sealed tight, suction without sucking. Letting Oswald rest on the slick of his tongue, feeling out the ridges of his palate, the delicate insides of his cheeks. It's like he's savouring it, or perhaps cataloguing the details; from what Oswald has learned about him this evening, it could well be both. 

Then he moves, sliding his head back before sucking Oswald back down, and Oswald can't help but buck forwards. He needs more of this delicious warmth. It's a struggle not to use his hold on Edward's hair to set a brutal pace, because hell, he can't think of anything other than fucking Edward's face in a display of selfish possession. It would be incredible to see, Edward taking everything he can possibly dish out. Perhaps Edward's eyes would go glassy. His face would be red, spit would dribble down his chin, and he would gag with every single thrust. But he would dig his hands in and try to pull Oswald deeper, try to make Oswald move faster. He would welcome Oswald's absolute ownership of him, and it's the most erotic visual that Oswald's mind has ever conjured. 

Of course he does his best to hold back, because he doesn't want to hurt Edward, not really. He still can't help some tiny undulations of his hips, and Edward doesn't seem to mind. His technique is far from expert as he works his mouth back and forth, but it makes no difference to Oswald. Short of biting it off, he's unconvinced that there's much Edward could do to turn him off right now. 

Edward applies some deliberate suction, and swirls his tongue in a seemingly random pattern of flicks and licks. He keeps his eyes up, looking at Oswald's face the entire time, and the expression on his face combined with the stretch of his lips around a mouthful of cock can only be described as obscene. It's helping to bring Oswald to the brink much sooner than he would prefer, but he's powerless even to delay the inevitable. 

"Edward… Holy shit, Edward, I can't- You have to s-stop, I'm going to-" 

He tries to warn Edward. Really, he does. 

He can only assume that Edward isn't listening. 

A few moments more and that familiar tension coils in the pit of his stomach, every muscle in his body suddenly held taut as white-hot pleasure swells within him. There's a sense of disbelief in his consciousness as he feels Edward's mouth still working, his throat choking around the ejeculation, eyes closing as he concentrates on helping Oswald to ride through his climax. It lasts for a short eternity, Oswald's entire body jolting with the aftershocks of his orgasm long after his dick has stopped pulsing. 

He slumps bonelessly against the wall when Edward finally pulls off him. He distantly registers the sound of Edward spitting. He feels thoroughly ruined. 

When he blinks back to a better awareness of reality, he looks back down to where Edward is still kneeling by his feet. He has one hand braced on his thigh, while the other moves at a furious pace on his own erection, his head dropped and his breath coming in huffs as he brings himself off. 

He comes before Oswald has managed to get enough of his bearings to help. His body spasms as he keens wantonly. Oswald's fingers are still tangled in his hair, nails raking his scalp in the only form of encouragement he can offer as he watches Edward go through the tell-tale signs of orgasm. What a sight it is to behold. In the history of humanity, nothing can ever have been so beautiful. Oswald is sure he must look absolutely besotted when Edward eventually meets his gaze again, a satisfied smile playing at his swollen lips. 

Oswald uses his hair to haul him back upright, pulling him into a rough kiss, and Edward positively melts into him. He tastes himself on Edward's tongue, and though he feels he should be revolted, in reality he can't get enough of the combination. 

Finally they part for much needed breath, but Edward doesn't move far. They share the same air, readjusting to reality together, and Oswald feels like they could stay in this moment forever. Never has he felt like this about anyone before. 

The cool, night air starts to become uncomfortable on his skin. He clears his throat, effectively shattering the spell-like trance they had fallen into. 

But what is he supposed to say now? He wants to tell Edward that no one else can ever have him now, but that might be a bit much for a first date. Insecurity begins to bubble up in his chest as the thought occurs to him that, although he has very quickly become smitten with Edward, there's a very real possibility that Edward might not feel the same. For all he knows, Edward was only interested in this quick and dirty encounter to satisfy his immediate lust, and is now happy to go on his way. 

"I hope this isn't too forward," Edward says, cutting into his thought process, "but I find you absolutely intoxicating."

Oswald snorts. "Too forward? You just sucked my soul out through my dick. You don't have to worry about being forward."

He's being glib, but it's a relief to hear. At least Edward isn't about to vanish into the night. Edward sniggers, the vibrations of it rumbling against Oswald's torso. 

"I suppose not." 

Then Edward stands up fully, to look properly into Oswald's face. His expression is open and sincere, and Oswald wonders what great deed he did in a past life to deserve this kind of luck. 

"In that case, will you permit me to take you somewhere for a few more drinks?" 

Oswald grins, baring his teeth. "There's nothing I would like more."

**Author's Note:**

> I really can't take credit for Ed's riddle. I had to scour the Internet for it.


End file.
